


Afternoon Tea

by nostalgic_breton_girl



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, Sweetrolls (Elder Scrolls), shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:35:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26237995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nostalgic_breton_girl/pseuds/nostalgic_breton_girl
Summary: In which Marcurio attempts to make Julienne's favourite baked treat
Relationships: Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Marcurio
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	Afternoon Tea

It was not a wise decision, to leave Marcurio with full charge of the kitchen. Nor was it a particularly good idea to leave Julienne alone in there, either: but the dangers were surprisingly well mitigated when they cooked together, and such had been the way for a good while now. Julienne would go after Marcurio’s assorted spills; Marcurio would keep an eye on Julienne’s semi-abandoned saucepans; and somehow, until this point, they had not had anything resembling a disaster.

It worried Julienne, then, when Marcurio announced that he was going to be in the kitchen for an hour or two, and that on no account must she enter during that time.

‘What are you making?’ she asked: which he would not tell her. ‘Oh, _do_ be careful,’ she at last pleaded him – the only thing which she had the courage to plead, she could not _stop_ him, how much harm could he do?

And so he disappeared into the kitchen, and closed the door; and Julienne tried to settle into a book, with half an eye upon the lintel, as if she might see through it.

A surprising amount of time had passed, before Marcurio first shouted; he muffled himself almost at once, but Julienne was already at the door, and prying it open. At which Marcurio leaned on the door from the other side and insisted that all was well, he had just _nearly_ dropped something. – The crash which had accompanied his voice was not quite testament to that, but Julienne decided she would give him the benefit of the doubt.

She paced the room a couple of times: and, when all seemed quiet once more, sat back down, and returned to her reading.

A few paragraphs later, and there was another crash, duller this time; she ran to the door, asked what was happening. Marcurio said that everything was still fine: and perhaps she should go outside, that she not be concerned by the least noise which he made? – And Julienne knew she should investigate, but instead obeyed him to the letter, and went for a walk among the woods.

It was half an hour later when she returned, and when she entered the house, she perceived Marcurio standing over the wash-basin. – He had not thought she would return so early, and was startled by her appearance. When he turned, she saw why: his fingers were sticky, and his entire self was lightly dusted with flour.

‘Oh!’ said he: ‘I was just washing the stuff off.’

‘You look like you were in an exploded flour-mill,’ she said.

‘I was... baking,’ he replied, vaguely. Then, when he perceived her half-amused, half-worried expression: ‘It wasn’t... a _complete_ disaster.’

‘What were you baking?’

‘A surprise.’

‘Oh!’

There was an intriguing smell coming from the kitchen, one reminiscent of cake but with a note of caramelisation, and the slightest hint of burning. – Quite to be expected, from the amateur baking. – Julienne smiled, despite her mild anxieties, and helped Marcurio to brush the flour from his robes, that he less resemble a ghost who died in a milling accident.

‘How long has it to go in the oven?’

‘I haven’t the least idea. How long does cake usually take?’

‘So it’s a cake!’

‘Of sorts...’

‘When you can put a knife in, and bring it out clean –’

Marcurio beamed, and disappeared back into the kitchen. When he emerged, it was with a cake-smeared knife, and a perplexed expression.

‘How clean?’

‘Cleaner than that.’

He set the knife down, insisted that Julienne not be so worried: he invited her to sit, go back to her book, wait for afternoon tea to be ready. – He was treating her, she must not bother herself with anything. – He was relaxed enough himself that he sat down for a bit, got out his own book, immersed himself in it –

‘I think your cake is burning,’ said Julienne, after rather too long.

‘Oh!’ he cried, and ran into the kitchen.

When he returned a few minutes later, it was with a towel dusted with cake crumbs, a distinct lack of cake, and the most tender expression upon his face; he set down the towel, kissed Julienne’s forehead, and said quite genuinely, though most out of place:

‘I love you more than anything...’

‘The cake was a disaster, wasn’t it,’ she laughed.

‘And I shall make up for it –’

‘I want to see the cake.’

He had, to her relief, not used her best cake-mould; rather he had used the bun-tin, and made a dozen or so little things, which had in the oven gone dark, and black round the edges. He had tried to lever one onto a plate, and it had collapsed on the spot, and there were burnt crumbs all over the floor.

‘I tried to make sweetrolls...’ he said: ‘the Cyrodiilic ones, I mean.’

‘Oh!’ said Julienne, and tried a bit.

They did not taste too bad, all things considered: rather burnt, certainly, but it was the sugar that had burnt, more than the dough, and so it tasted rather of toffee. The cake itself was lightly spiced, and of an unusual texture, quite airy and dry.

‘Have you made sweetrolls before?’

‘I used to watch my grandmother,’ he shrugged. ‘I didn’t remember the recipe and I thought asking you would spoil the surprise so I just... guessed.’

Then, dusting his hands:

‘I think I used too much flour.’

‘Marcurio, you’re a _darling_ ,’ she said suddenly, and embraced him.

‘Does it merit that?’ he said: ‘I shan’t complain –’

‘Well, you did a sweet thing, I... it was very nice of you, and they are not that badly wrong... Oh! and you admitted your mistakes,’ she added, with a grin: ‘you’re learning.’

She reached up, kissed him; found him still a little too floury, coughed; then she fed him a bit of his own sweetroll, and he wrinkled his nose.

‘Could do with buttering,’ he said.

‘Then we’ll butter them,’ she said. ‘Oh! they taste all right, really they do. Thank you, Marcurio.’

‘When I have the practice, I shall be the best baker in all Skyrim, just you wait,’ he said.

‘I shall await that day eagerly,’ she replied: ‘you surpassing the Gourmet.’

‘Don’t you think it possible?’

‘I... wouldn’t say that...’

‘Maybe you could _teach_ me...’

‘Marcurio, you _know_ what my cooking is like.’

‘Yes...’ He laughed. ‘Maybe you could write to Agnete for her sweetroll recipe.’

‘I think I shall have to. Though your attempt was not bad.’

‘You haven’t tried getting them out of the mould...’

When the sweetrolls came out of the tin – after much prising with a knife and a spoon – they were in such small pieces that they thought it superfluous to save them for later, and before they knew it they had eaten almost the entire lot: Julienne sitting upon the table, licking her fingers like a cat, and Marcurio scooping crumbs into his mouth without the least note of shame. – When they had demolished as much as they could eat in one sitting, Julienne beamed, jumped down from her perch, and once again threw her arms around Marcurio.

‘That was the _best_ afternoon tea I have ever had,’ she said.

‘Better than strawberries and cream by the White River?’

‘ _Much_ better...’

The cleaning could wait, and the washing-up; she reached up and kissed him, and sat him down, and, too full of cake to move, nestled into his embrace. – Oh! how lucky she was! – and how fine a burnt sweetroll might be, when it is made by Marcurio!


End file.
